


and we'll build this love from the ground up

by Glowbug, lettersfromnowhere



Series: never use last with us (romy fic) [6]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Family, actually "drabble" is a misnomer, because neither of us have self control with word counts, more like...short oneshots?, this basically started as an inside joke that became a fic whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowbug/pseuds/Glowbug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: A lifetime isn't long enough.(A collection of co-authored LeBeau family drabbles, each based on a one-word prompt.)





	1. matutine (adj.) - just before the dawn (Glowbug)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, @lettersfromnowhere here! A few weeks back, @Glowbug and I spent a glorious few hours creating Romy kid headcanons. I, personally, have never been very good at or into kidfic (I LOVE to read it but don't feel like I can write it well), but we loved them way too much to not write something. Inspired by a set of drabble prompts based on obscure words found on Tumblr, we went for it. I hope you like these - I know we do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by @Glowbug.

“Always know you got somethin’ big on your mind when I’m findin’ you up on the roof, girl.”

Rogue chuckles weakly. He chances putting an arm around her and she leans in, resting her head on his shoulder.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She sighs. Neither of them says anything for a minute.

She starts, “You remember I had the M-Pox, right?”

_“Mais oui.”_ As though he could forget. They wouldn’t let anyone in to see her, and he didn’t sleep for three days.

“I’m…” Her voice cracks. He holds her a little tighter. “I don’t actually know if I can have kids now.”

“Oh, _ma colombe.”_ The way she’s been teasing and dancing around the subject suddenly makes sense.

“I was gonna ask Hank about it—but—I‘m scared he’s gonna say there’s no chance.” In a near whisper she adds: “That I ruined it for us.”

“No no no, Anna, you get dat thought outta your head right now.” ’Cos no matter _how_ many times he’s dreamed of holding a baby with a little white streak in their hair—“You saved a lot of lives dat day, don’ think I don’t know. ’Sides, stargazin’ next to my _wife’s_ about as far from ‘ruined’ as it gets.”

Rogue gives him a teary smile. “Flatterer.”

“It’s true.” He takes her hands. “You… _wanna_ have a family wit’ me, yeah?”

“Yes.” Even crying, she’s got that quiet certainty in her eyes, the one that makes his heart swell up because it means _forever,_ it means _faith._ “More than anything in the world, Remy. _Yes.”_

“So we adopt.” Another minute and he’s going to kiss her. “So we talk to Hank an’ Cecilia _together_ ’stead of you goin’ all by your lonesome. We figure somethin’ out. Don’ matter how de kids happen, _mon coeur…_ they still gonna be _ours.”_

Slowly, she nods. “You sure?”

_“Absolutment,”_ he says, and means it.

“Does sound nice.” She snuggles up to him. “I always wanted a ton of kids.”

“Six enough?” he jokes. She giggles.

“That’s plenty, sugar. But maybe we oughta start with one an’ go from there.”

_“D’accord._ One kid. Jus’ to start with.”

And danged if he isn’t the luckiest man alive.

  
  



	2. eudaimonia (n.) - a contented state of being happy and healthy and prosperous (lettersfromnowhere)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won't pretend that I didn't choose this prompt because I don't want to write about pregnancy and risk getting it drastically wrong, but I ended up loving it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @lettersfromnowhere here - this one's mine and, uh, I REALLY let that word count get away from me. What can I say? I have a THING for big-reveal-on-vacation scenes. (See the infamous WWI AU.) Also, if it wasn't clear, these are in chronological order, and everything is Headcanonal - a lot of people use Oli and Bekah in their kid fics, but not us. #goingrogue #punintended *sunglasses emoji*
> 
> Also, guys, do yourselves a favor and listen to some Dan & Shay while you read these. It really does enhance the experience, and they have a LOT of good Romy songs.

Rogue is certain that this has to be the worst-timed vacation in history, and somehow it still feels like bliss.

Sure, there’s the struggle of making excuses for her nausea in a hotel room with one bathroom where noise travels too easily; there’s the added pressure of restraining herself from letting her secret slip when Remy asks her if she needs to see a doctor with concern in his eyes. But...it’s peaceful here in this tiny lakeside cottage in the Adirondacks, even though she feels as if she could burst with the pent-up excitement that comes with keeping the best news they’ve had in a while a secret until the moment is perfect. She decides, one night after the sun has made its exit below the horizon and boats bob in the dark water as the wind picks up, that there is nothing quite like the feeling of watching the sun set over the lake from the end of their dock, her head resting contentedly on Remy’s shoulder. 

“Seems like a storm’s startin’ to blow in,” she comments aimlessly, ruffling her hair to let the strengthening wind flow through it. “These mountain thunderstorms are somethin’ else.”

Remy sighs. “Should we head in?” 

Rogue playfully smacks his arm. “What, scared?” 

“I don’t love-” he flinches as a fat raindrop hits his outstretched arm - “bein’ rained on.”

“I happen to like gettin’ caught out in the rain,” she says, stretching out her own arm to catch raindrops in her hands. Remy turns to watch her, nothing but radiant with her near-giddy smile, and feels his heart swell.

“The t’ings I do for you, _ chére, _” he grouses, but truthfully he thinks he’d walk through a field of magma if it meant seeing Rogue like this. “You look happy.”

“You have no idea,” she replies, punctuating her statement with a gleeful squeal when the first bolt of lightning splits the far-off sky. The rain begins to pick up, and after a few moments, Rogue’s smile fades. As the first peal of thunder rings out, she grabs her husband’s hand and pulls him to his feet with such force that he nearly loses his footing. They bolt for the cabin, Rogue’s laughter ringing out around them as they run.

“Thought you liked the rain, _ chére!” _he teases.

“I do, but even I have limits,” she says as they cross the threshold and she throws the sliding glass door closed behind them. “Wanna get a fire started?” 

With a smirk, he whips out a card, begins to charge it, and prepares to fling it into the firewood. 

“_ Not like that!” _Rogue screeches.

“Hey, you asked!”

“You know what, fires are overrated.” Rogue grabs the throw blanket hanging over the back of the sofa and, shifting to settle against Remy’s chest, drapes it over them. She nuzzles into his shoulder with a contented sigh and he instinctively tightens his hold on her.

“I haven’t seen you this happy in a while,” Remy says after a few moments of companionable silence.

“Mm?” she mumbles. “Well, I got plenty of reason to be.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not talkin’ about de view?” he asks, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. 

“Well, the settin’ isn’t bad, but...not really why I feel like I’m walkin’ on air. Havin’ everything I want right here in this room’ll do that to a girl.” 

“I’m flattered, _ ma colombe-”   
_

Rogue takes in a shaky breath. _ Now you _ gotta _ tell him. _“Not just talkin’ about you, Cajun.” 

“Then…” 

She finds that the words get caught in her throat and in lieu of getting them out, she simply takes his hands and places them lightly on her stomach, which has barely swollen. “I, uh...I don’t know how, but I…” 

“You’re…” Remy catches on, if the hitch in his breathing means anything. “You mean, you…we…”

Rogue simply nods, her heart pounding a million miles an hour - from the place her head rests against his chest, she can tell that his is, too. “I was tryin’ to wait until the moment felt right, you know? And... I guess it did now.”

“We’ve been on vacation for a _ week _and you’re just now telling me this?” He swings his legs off the couch and turns her to face him, cradling her chin. “Anna…”

Her eyes begin to fill with tears she thought she’d expended already. “Yeah?”

He’s speechless.

Rogue didn’t think it could happen, but Remy LeBeau is speechless.

For a moment, he stares at her in disbelief, and the moment his senses return to him he kisses her, tender and urgent all at once. She rests her forehead against his after they pull apart for air, and he caresses her face with a tenderness that very nearly makes her cry.

“I can’t believe it either,” she finally manages to choke out, and as tears pool in her eyes yet again, he presses frantic kisses to her forehead, nose, cheeks, temples, jaw - anything kissable. She leans in, lacing her arms around his neck.

“And you’re just telling me this _ now?” _


	3. balter (v.) - to dance artlessly, without particular grace or skill but usually with enjoyment (Glowbug)

They tumble, laughing, through the penthouse skylight, startling the cats when Rogue plops Remy a little too hard on the couch.

Remy chuckles. “We _gotta_ go car shoppin'. You’re gettin’ less an’ less graceful in the air, _ma colombe.”_

“An’ whose fault is _that?”_

“Ummm…”

She chucks a pillow at him.

“Aaah! I give, I give!”

“Joker,” Rogue teases—and stops, at a fluttering in her belly.

_“Chère?”_

“C’mere,” she breathes. “I think I felt somethin’…” He scoots in closer; she places his hand on the spot. They wait.

A tiny person inside of her kicks. Remy’s face lights like a Christmas tree. “Ah! _Bonjour, mes petits!”_

_My little ones._ The plural fizzes warmly in her chest. Cecilia told them an hour ago, in between Hank’s battery of tests to monitor for any complications. She showed them on the ultrasound, too.

Twins. Their “one baby just to start with,” their baby somehow growing inside her against all odds, is _twins._

Remy jumps up unexpectedly to fiddle with the stereo. “What’re you doin’?” she asks.

_"Un moment—”_ He punches ten or twelve buttons and swipes through some song list she can’t read from this angle. “Aha. There we go.”

One of those tender pop songs comes on, the kind she’d never have admitted to loving way back when. Remy turns to her with a smile. Holds out his hand.

“Dance with me, _chère.”_


	4. aspectabund (adj.) - letting or being able to let expressive emotion show easily through one’s face and eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were promised Romy babies. Here - have some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH, THE EYES ONESHOT. 
> 
> This was based on one of the first specific LeBeau kid headcanons that Glow and I came up with and, as angsty and overwrought as it is, I *love* it - I've got good memories with this one. I hope you like it too.

Remy thought he’d run through every possible what-if and improbable scenario these past months, turned them over in his mind endlessly. This was one of them - it’s basic biology, after all, and rather unavoidable. So it had crossed his mind even though, in the moment, it didn’t seem significant. 

That doesn’t take the edge off of the cold sting of the moment his daughter - this tiny, precious, already-beloved human who’d defied the odds simply by being born - opens her eyes. 

His son’s, open a few moments before his sisters’, are green, and that alone had been enough to move him to tears. But that had been a reaction of stupefied joy. As Leonie’s black-on-carnelian eyes lock on his, he freezes in place - because the _ one _thing he hates about himself, the reason he’d lost the loving family, the stable childhood, the simple innocence he would die or kill without a thought to secure for his children, is the single visible trait he’s passed on to his firstborn. 

Rogue begins to sniffle and he feels like the floor is collapsing underneath him. _ This should have been the best day of her life. _He’d done this. After all they’d overcome to reach this moment...he can’t even give her the satisfaction of enjoying it for-

“She has your eyes, Remy,” Rogue says, so quiet he barely hears her at first. 

She can’t hold back her tears, every moment leading to this one - every moment when she doubted his love, her control, the possibility of this child, _ their _child, this newborn girl with his eyes and her nose, ever being - catching in her throat along with the words she wants to say. All she can get out is, “they’re beautiful.”

“You t’ink so?” Remy asks, soft and equally choked-up. 

“Of course.” She holds out her finger and Léonie reaches out her tiny hand to grasp it; she lets out a choked giggle at that. “Well, I know she’s a little wrapped around her mama’s finger, but do you wanna hold her?” 

He nods and Rogue hands him the bundle (Lucien fusses, obviously unhappy at the attention he’s not getting - Rogue wonders if perhaps he hasn’t inherited some of his father’s more..._ colorful _traits). Léonie gazes up at her father with complete focus and he’s surprised by the tears that prick at his eyes. 

Years ago, those eyes were the reason a baby’s birth was cause for terror. Now, through the eyes of someone whose heart is the most wonderful thing Remy has ever stolen, they’re a cause for joy. 

He gazes at his wife, and then back at his daughter - she has Rogue’s nose, and her quiet intensity, he notices with another curious prick at the back of his eyes - and then at his son, the one with Rogue’s eyes and his chin and constant need for attention, and he wonders what he’d have said if he’d known back then that _ this _is how he’d feel.


	5. convivencia (spanish, n.) - living together, in the sense of living or working closely with other people (lettersfromnowhere)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An announcement like "first X-Babies born in this timeline!" is bound to get attention...and a lot of it. (The "team meets twins" one.) Written by @lettersfromnowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, @Glowbug is very much our Canon Expert here, so I had to consult with her on characterization things for this and I hope I was able to take her advice and turn it into something that Makes Actual Sense. 
> 
> Also, the X-Men group chat could be a thing all its own, and I can't guarantee that it won't show up again. :p

The much-maligned "X-Chat" (a name no one liked but everyone was too lazy to change) was a public nuisance, usually good for nothing but 86 unread texts about such _pressing_ matters as who'd eaten the last of Bobby’s Count Chocula at ungodly hours of the morning, but today it served a greater purpose. 

“Smile for the camera,” Remy said as he snapped a picture of his wife (she scowls, trying not to crack up all the while, just to spite him) and the twins, typed “first X-babies in this timeline...you’re welcome,” and pressed ‘send.’ “Finally, somethin’ _ worth _usin’ the chat for!” 

“Remy, _ no,” _ Rogue groaned. “You’re _ not _sendin’ that. I look like-” 

“A million bucks, _ non?” _ he smirked. “Too late, _ chére. _Sent.” 

“We’re going to be mobbed with visitors in five seconds, Rem-” 

Sure enough, a frantic pounding at the door and a boisterous cry of “SOMEONE LET ME IN!” invaded their formerly-quiet afternoon. With a knowing smile, Cecilia opened the door, and Jubilee burst into the room, a gift box in her arms. First she ran to Rogue, practically dumping the box in her lap as she threw her arms around her neck - Remy tensed, afraid the impact would be too much - and cried, “I’m so, _ so, SO happy for you!” _

To Remy’s relief, Rogue simply chuckled. “Thanks, Sugar,” she replied. “Want to hold one?” 

“I thought you’d never ask!” she squealed as an extremely reluctant Remy placed Lucien in her arms. Jubilee lifted the soft green blanket away from his face ever-so-slightly and he grimaced. “Don’t think he likes me yet, but he will. Aww, Rogue, he’s got your eyes! That’s so sweet...oh, we’ve _ got _to set up a playdate for the twins and Shogo! Like-” 

“Jubilee, they’re an _ hour _old,” Remy said. “They’re not gonna be doin’ much’a anything for a long time.” 

Cecilia, who’d simply looked on for most of the duration of their encounter, now stepped in. “Rogue needs to rest, Jubilee,” she cut in. “You might want-” 

Whatever sensible advice Cecilia had been trying to dispense was cut off unceremoniously by the arrival of a new contingent of visitors. First came Ororo, whose far more tranquil way of congratulating the new parents was vastly appreciated; then Jean and Scott, who fawned over the twins as much as was requisite (Jean) and tried not to laugh at the revelation that the normally carefree Remy was just about the most paranoid father in existence (Scott); then Kitty, whose bittersweet smile as she held little Léonie said more than her congratulatory words possibly could. Kurt was as smitten with the twins as their parents were; Logan claimed not to know how to hold a baby but, once introductions were made, immediately decided that the twins had probably inherited their parents’ enemies and would _ definitely _need to be kept at the mansion for “safekeeping.” Visitors didn’t stop dropping by for two hours - all of them seemed to ignore Cecilia’s increasingly-urgent pleas to let the family rest - and the final ones had to tiptoe around a completely knocked-out Rogue, who could probably have slept through a nuclear missile strike in that moment. (Remy did his best to herd them out of the room, but teammates were as teammates did - it was a futile effort.) 

“Finally,” he breathed as some of the younger recruits - teenagers he barely knew - made their exit. 

“I tried,” Cecilia sighed. “Do yourself a favor and get some sleep now. You’ll have to be again up sooner than you can imagine.” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” he said, collapsing into an armchair next to Rogue’s bed. Instinctively, he reached for her hand; she didn’t even stir as he squeezed it. Soon he drifted off, his head lolling against the side of the bed. 

Cecilia watched the two sleep, their hands clasped even in the deepest slumber, and smiled.


	6. quaquaversal (adj.) - moving or happening in every direction instantaneously (Glowbug)

“Cat!” Leonie declares, reaching for Figaro’s tail. “Feero!”

“No pulling, sug, he don’t like that!” Rogue calls across the room—to no avail, as the now-vexed feline hisses and swats in her eighteen-month-old daughter’s general direction. Leonie shrieks indignantly, prompting Figaro _and_ Lucifer (who was napping on the rocking chair) to rocket out the door. Naturally, Leonie screams even louder. Rogue sighs and wipes off her hands.

_“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”_

“I know, sweet pea, I know.” She picks up her daughter, bouncing her gently. “Cat’s gonna come back later, okay? We’re gonna pet him real gentle-like.” (Leonie continues to sob.)

“Wanna get down!” Lucien interrupts, yanking Rogue’s attention back to the changing table. (Lord, she can’t _wait_ till these two are old enough to toilet-train.) She manages to halt him one-handed before he can try to climb down himself.

“Almost done, honey-bunch, just a sec!” Fastening up a diaper on a squirming toddler with one hand proves impossible, so she sets Leonie down next to him.

Her phone rings.

Rogue blurts out a few words she’s _definitely_ going to regret letting the twins hear. “Betsy, I swear ta God—” Scooping up one baby in each arm, she zips through the air (which starts Lucien whimpering but cheers up Leonie: “wheeee!”) to deposit them both in their crib.

It’s not Betsy. Not Remy, either. It’s Evangeline Whedon. She picks up. “Hey, girl.”

“You two still holding off on adoption?” Papers rustle at the far end of the line. Vange is in lawyer mode.

“Uh, yeah…” Rogue sits down in the (thankfully catless) rocking chair. “But I reckon you got a reason you’re askin’, so spill.”

“Marie called from Haiti an hour ago,” Vange explains, naming her assistant-turned-paralegal.

“Haiti?”

“One of those volunteer vacations. Anyway, there’s a baby girl at an orphanage there who breaks windows when she cries.”

Rogue grabs the arm of the chair. The wood creaks from strain; she loosens her grip. “Damn.” There hasn’t been a mutant manifesting at birth since… Hope?

“Yep. Apparently she keeps getting bounced around. No one wants to deal with the property damage.”

“So you’re callin’ _me?”_

“I’m calling you.” Vange doesn’t remind Rogue of the (practically nonexistent) adoption rates for mutant children. She doesn’t need to.

“…Let me talk to Remy.”


	7. áoyè // 熬夜 (chinese, n.) - to pull an all-nighter  (lettersfromnowhere)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name? A lot, it turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very weird one, but I kind of like it. A few notes: 
> 
> 1\. According to my research, the method of naming an adopted child that they use here is quite common. If a name seems like it would cause problems for a child, a lot of adoptive parents will change it or, if they want to preserve the kid's tie to their past/heritage, use their given name as a middle name and add a new first name. 
> 
> 2\. One of the accents in "Héléne" is backwards. I know this, and I hate it, but my keyboard does not have the other-direction accent for the second "e". 
> 
> 3\. It can take years to complete an international adoption (I know a family who applied to adopt a baby from Haiti and didn't get to bring their son home until he was four or five), hence the gap shown here. Obviously there is a lot that I skipped over, but I figured that this was a fine stopping point because it skips over the parts of the adoption process that I know the least about (even with my research) and also the ones people probably aren't that interested in reading. 
> 
> Again, I have zero personal experience with international adoption and am simply going by what some reputable internet sources tell me. If you have anything to add or I got something wrong, please let me know.

Rogue rests her forehead against her palm, closing her eyes as if it’ll block out the mountains of paperwork scattered across their kitchen table. It’s been a year since Evangeline’s call about the glass-shattering baby Mutant in Haiti, six months since they visited Héléne - at the time still an infant - for the first time, six months since they knew there was _ no way _that she wasn’t coming home with them. 

How long it would take to bring Héléne home, though, had been a surprise, and Rogue couldn’t help but think that every minute they delayed getting through this paperwork was a day they couldn’t give her the loving home she deserved. So she rubbed at her eyes, ignoring the reading of _ 2:33 AM _emblazoned across her phone screen, and blindly grabbed for a pen. 

“Need a break, _ chére?” _Remy asks, shuffling some of the paperwork into a slightly-less-haphazard stack. 

“No.” She shakes her head with resolve. “We gotta get through this tonight. It’s not gonna do itself, and the twins have a checkup tomorrow, so we both know I won’t get a thing done, and-” 

She isn’t going to back down, so Remy changes tactics. “What d’you t’ink we should do about her name?” 

“Her name?” Rogue looks confused for a moment, but it sinks in. “Oh. Right. I guess...well, I’m not really sure.” 

“I was doin’ some research-” 

_ That _gets Rogue’s attention. “You? Research? Nuh-uh. I don’t believe it.” 

“No, really,” he says, rather offended. “Found out that a lotta people who adopt change their kid’s name.”

“So are you suggestin’ that we change her name? Because we need more work _ so badly _?” 

“I like ‘er name, though. Héléne,” he says, exaggerating its French pronunciation for effect. “‘S nice.” 

“Then why’d you bring up changin’ it?” Rogue asks, exasperated. 

“B’cause no one here speaks half-decent French,” he replies. “She’s gonna be gettin’ called ‘Helen’ for de rest of her life.” 

Rogue looks sheepish. “Yeah, I would have thought it was pronounced like that...” 

“See?” Remy sighs dramatically. “I thought I taught you better’n this, _ ma colombe.” _

“Never did have the gift of gab,” Rogue tells him, leaning back in her chair and resting her feet on the kitchen table. “You make a good point, but... I don’t just wanna toss it aside. Think it’d do her good to have a reminder of where she came from.” 

“Well, some families jus’ make the first name a middle name t’ keep it around.” 

Rogue nods. “That works, but even if Hélene’s her middle name, we need a new first-” 

“Audrey.” 

“Why Audrey?” Rogue swings her legs down off of the table, leaning on her elbows again. “Not sayin’ it’s not a nice name, but...where’d it come from?” 

He grins wickedly. “Remember that time you made me watch _ Roman Holiday? _ What you told me after you started cryin’? _ ” _

Rogue buries her face in her hands. “I was _ drunk, _Remy. Whatever I said-” 

  
“You started cryin’ on my shirt and said you’d name your first daughter after-” 

“Audrey Hepburn, I know. _ Gaah.” _She’s got nothing against the name - loves it, really - but the fact that he remembers that moment at all brings a stiff blush to her cheeks. 

Remy seems acutely aware of her discomfort. “I’m kiddin’, _ chére, _you know that, right?” 

Her blush fades. “Yeah, but I actually kinda like it. ‘Audrey Héléne LeBeau’ - rolls off the tongue…” 

“Wouldn’t call that ‘rolling.’” Remy grimaces at her butchered French. “More like...fallin’ to its death.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“Audrey Héléne it is?” 

“I swear you only say that to show off your stupid perfect French,” Rogue pouts. 

“Hey, is that a yes or-” 

“Yes. Audrey it is.”


End file.
